My name is Conrad Steiner. I'm a doctor of medicine. Tonight's story of the title, A
Time to be Alive. Guardian of birth, healer of the sick, comforter of the aged. To the
profession of medicine, to the men and women who labor in its cause, this story is dedicated.
Tonight's presentation, the field of hematology, science of blood. The object in point, a piece
of jagged glass. The case in point, David Carter Stinson. He's 11 years old. From the
day he was born, his life's been in constant jeopardy. A simple cut, an unlucky fall, a
bruise, any of these could mean death for him. His condition is sometimes referred to
as the royal disease, the malady of kings. But David's not a king. He's just a young
boy in a lot of trouble. David, tell the class who captured Mexico City at what? David? David,
are you listening? In November 1519, Fernando Cortez marched on the Aztec capital, Mexico
City. The emperor, Montezuma, thinking he was a descendant of the sun god, offered no
resistance. And in a short time, Cortez controlled all Mexico. Seamus Walker, did they ever find
those three men that landed near Cuernavaca? Little men. David, is that in your copy of
Mexico, Land of Sunshine and Mañana? No, it's in Science Weekly Report, Miss Walker.
They came by saucer. Class, David tried to stay with the text. Anyway, they couldn't
have come to Cuernavaca. There isn't an airport within miles. And now, class, David, tomorrow
we'll cover the principal industries and major cities. This is David Stinson, and this room
has been the boundary of his world for more than two months. No great disaster put him
there. He simply fell off a bike and bumped his knee. For most boys, the treatment would
have been a piece of adhesive tape and a chocolate soda. But for David, it meant two weeks in
a hospital, four pints of blood, an orthopedic brace, and agonizing pain whenever he moves
his leg. For David, Carter Stinson is a hemophiliac. He's a bleeder. When he cuts himself, it doesn't
stop, and it takes all the arts of medicine to keep his heart from pumping his life out
through the open wound. And this is his mother. From the day David was born, it's been her
job to say no. No bicycle, no baseball, no football, no running, no jumping. Almost every
normal interest a boy could have, it's been her job to say no. But she watches over him
fiercely, torn with two emotions, love and guilt. The guilt, she blames herself for her
son's disease.
An hour later, David Stinson is brought into surgery. The radial artery in his left forearm
has been cut, and he's sustained lacerations around the mouth and chin. The impact of his
fall has also re-injured his left knee, causing internal hemorrhage around the joint. He's
lost considerable blood. On arrival at the hospital, he was given two units of antihemophilic
plasma. He's approaching shock. Blood pressure 70 over 40, pulse 160. The cut in his arm
is sutured and a pressure bandage with fibrin foam applied. His face presents another problem.
The lacerations are not as deep and can be easily sutured, but the application of a pressure
bandage is extremely difficult in this area. Because the patient is a known hemophiliac,
a cross-match is run immediately and six units of fresh blood are ordered. The blood must
be fresh, for the vital protein antihemophilic factor, which is lacking in the patient's
blood, the same protein which causes normal blood to coagulate, loses its effectiveness
24 hours after it's taken from the donor. In order to ensure a sufficient supply of
fresh blood on hand, a call is sent out to all available sources in the area requesting
blood of the patient's type. Meantime, outside the hospital corridor, David's family waits,
hopes, and prays. His father, mother, his sister. Her name's Flora. She's 21 years old.
She's engaged to be married. Like her parents, this is hardly a new experience for her. She's
been through it time and again. And with each new episode, a growing fear takes hold in
her mind. A fear not only for her brother, but for herself. Three hours later, the patient
is on his third unit of blood and is still bleeding. For the moment, the transfusions
have removed the danger of shock.
This makes 1,500 cc's. He's a sick boy. Seems there's enough AHF in the blood we've given
him to induce clotting. It's not quite that simple, Carl. Hemophiliacs not only lack the
AHF factor in the blood, they tend to resist it. Sometimes one of them will build up antibodies
and fight it, the one thing that can save their lives. I heard about a patient that
took 30 transfusions and was still bleeding when he died. What about isolating the AHF?
I mean, so it can be administered in massive doses. Has anybody tried it? No, it's been
tried experimentally. It's not too reliable yet. So far the best we've got is fresh blood
and plasma. All we can do is what we are doing. I talked to George Fletcher, the hematologist.
He agrees with the procedure we're following. Do you want me for anything? I'll be outside
getting history from the parents. I'll be out as soon as I can. Right. Dr. Sterner,
look at this. Doctor, is there any change? Well, he's shown some improvement since he
came in, Mrs. Stinson. Nothing conclusive, but it's encouraging. I'd like to review David's
record, if I may. It's full of hospital records. Surely. Won't you sit down, please? Thank
you. Let's see now. Full name, David Carter Stinson. That's correct. When was he born?
March 10th, 1943. Any childhood diseases? Chickenpox, measles. He never did have the
mumps. And when was he first diagnosed as hemophiliac? When he was five days old. We
nearly lost him, didn't we, Rose? What about some of the other episodes? There were so
many. The next time was when I was a year old. He began to walk. For most mothers, it's
quite an event. I dreaded it. I watched him every second, never let him out of my sight.
It happened anyway. He fell and cut his lip. He bled for three weeks. Do you remember how
many transfusions he received, Mrs. Stinson? Quite a few. I don't remember how many. I
know it was a lot. When we took him back home, I was scared to death. Scared every minute
that he was awake. Scared to pick him up. Scared to touch him. Scared even to kiss him.
After that, it seemed to get better. Two or three years, he was acting like most kids.
Dr. Steiner said that's the way it was. Sometimes it was better, sometimes it was worse. I thought
maybe it was over. Do you know of any hemophilia in your family? I mean, did you ever know
of any relatives that had it? No. No, I'd never even heard about it until Lady was born.
They said it came from me. I gave it to him. I didn't know about it. I'd never even heard
about it. That's true, Sam, isn't it? I didn't know anything about it. Of course not, darling.
How could you? It wasn't your fault. It just happened. It's nobody's fault. When was the
next time it showed up, Mrs. Stinson? Can you remember? When Davey was four, Sam bought
him a rocking horse. He was beautiful. His eyes were old. He had skin like a real pony.
Davey loved him. Then one afternoon, he fell off. He got a bruise, a bad one. Was he hospitalized
for that? He was in for over a month. He had to wear a brace. And five years ago, he had
a very bad one. We went to Yosemite. Davey fell off a rock, sprained his ankle. Oh, I
know he shouldn't have gone there. I know he shouldn't have been on the rock. But how
do you keep a kid chained up when he wants to run and jump with the rest of the kids?
All you can do is hold him down until he looks at you like you've got peace. Then you take
a chance. You take a chance and he's sorry for it. Flory saved his life. She was there
when he fell. She was only 16, but she carried him all the way back to camp. Got a doctor.
Rushed him to the small hospital in the park. Flory and I took turns sitting up. She nursed
him as though he were her own child, not her brother. Always surprises you. Kids understand
more than you think. Excuse me. Excuse me, is there a phone? Just down the hall, other
side of the elevators. Thank you. I'll be right back. Jimmy, this is Flory. I'm still
at the hospital. I've got to see you, Jimmy. I've got to see you right away.
Flory, how are you doing? Hi. How's Davy? We don't know yet. I'm sorry to call you out
so late. That's OK. You sounded so funny on the phone, kind of scared me. What's it all
about? What's the matter? Jimmy, are you really thinking about marrying me? Is that what you
brought me down here for? Answer me. Do you really want to marry me? Well, I think so,
Flory. I mean, look, we talked about it, you know, later on. Gee, do we have to set the
date right now? Do you really know what Davy's trouble is? Sure, he's kind of sickly. He
gets hurt easy. He's a hemophiliac. He's a bleeder. We get married, we have a baby, a
boy. He could be just like Davy. Well, how come? You're from the same family. You didn't
get it. No, I give it. Women aren't affected by it. They only give it. I'm a carrier. How
do you know? There's no way of knowing for sure. Not until I have a baby. But there must
be some kind of a test. There must be some way of telling. There isn't. All I know is
it's in the family blood, and it could be in mine. If I've got it, I could pass it on
to my kids. Flory. You're probably worrying about nothing. You're probably perfectly
all right. And if I'm not, would that be all right with you? Spend your life in hospital
hallways. Have a kid you can't have any fun with. Watch him every minute of the day and
night. Is that all right with you? Talk to my father. Ask him what it's like. Ask him
how many times he's gotten phone calls at work. How many times he's come home and seen
a crowd around the house and an ambulance waiting out in front. Ask him how many nights
he's slept in the hospital waiting room. Like he's doing tonight. Sure, he wanted a son.
It's what he always wanted. He finally got one. David. And what is he? A little kid.
Almost like a glass doll. I'm propped up in a bed most of the time. Just so you're even
afraid to touch him because you might start him bleeding. Is that the kind of life you
want? You want kids like that? Would that be all right with you? Do you want me that
much? You better go home, Jimmy. I said you better go home.
You're all wrong.
Seven hours later and there's still no great change in the patient's condition. By now
there's every indication that this patient is a refractory case and may continue to bleed
indefinitely. Blood pressure 120 over 80. Pulse 90. Both stable for the last four and
a half hours. Transfusions of whole fresh blood continue. If they were to be stopped
it would be only a matter of time before the patient went into shock and died from loss
of blood.
The pressure bandage is changed at regular intervals.
The pressure bandage is changed at regular intervals.
Never mind that, Carl. We won't need it now.
What is it?
He stopped bleeding.
He's so pale. He hardly seems to be breathing. He's all right. We have him under pretty heavy
sedation. There's no need to wake his mother, is there? I don't think so. Not unless you
want to.
Eleven years old. He's the top of his class in school. If they want him to make a speech
when he graduates... He's a bright boy, Mr. Stinson. You ought to be proud of him. Is he
going to live, doctor? Well, he came out of it this time. If he's careful, no more accidents,
no major cuts or bruises. He ought to make out pretty well for the time being, at least.
What about the future?
Well, that's pretty hard to say.
Well, what is it hard to say? What can you tell me that I can take to his mother so she
wakes up with a smile for just once in her life?
The boy's alive, Mr. Stinson. Twenty years ago he'd have been dead.
Alive? Alive for what? So he can spend his life in hospital beds with braces and wheelchairs?
It's all right to come outside, Mr. Stinson. We can talk about it at that.
What can you tell me outside that you can't tell me in here?
I can tell you the truth.
There's a man in Michigan and another one back in Massachusetts. They've isolated the
protein in normal blood that your son lacks. He's got a lot of problems with it. It may
be months, it may be years before it can be used clinically, but there it is. Somebody's
doing something about David's trouble. Maybe tomorrow they'll find the answer. Maybe the
day after. But they're going to go on looking for it. That's all I can tell you, Mr. Stinson.
You've got a sick boy, but you're not alone with him. There are people working. They're
only humans. They've got to do a lot of work before they finally hit on the right answer.
But when they do, they come up with insulin, sulfa, penicillin, the mycin drugs. Tomorrow,
maybe a year from tomorrow, the man in Michigan or maybe the man back in Massachusetts, maybe
they'll finally hit on the right answer. Kids like David can jump on their bikes and not
worry about bumps, bruises.
How about David? Does he have five years, doctor?
Maybe five, maybe 50.
You know, the graduation's in two weeks. He's supposed to make the speech. It's a big thing
for him. Can he go?
David Stinson, I, Wanda Mead, the vice president of the graduating class of Jefferson Drama
School, am proud to congratulate you on your achievement as honor student of the class
of 1954. I now present our class president, Michael Elliott.
David Stinson, I, Michael Elliott, as president of the graduating class of Jefferson Grammar
School, am proud to congratulate you on your achievement as honor student of the class
of 1954. Even though you were in attendance only 72 days during the school year, your
record was outstanding and you were chosen valedictorian by the students and teachers
of the class. It is my...
It is my privilege to present you with this award in token of your achievement.
Thank you, Michael.
And now I'd like to present our valedictorian, David Stinson.
Thank you, Miss Walker. Miss Walker, fellow students, first let me thank you for your
gifts and for having elected me valedictorian. What does valedictorian mean? Valedictorian
means the one who gives the valedictory. What does valedictory mean? Valedictory means of
pretending to leave thinking or saying goodbye. And we are saying goodbye. Goodbye to childish
thoughts and actions, to jungle gyms and sandboxes. Hello to a new life of work and play at junior
high. But we must be thinking of what kind of men and women we will want to be in the
far future of ten years from now. And we must ask ourselves, what does the future hold for
me? Flory, I've been waiting for you. I'm late, Jimmy. It's Davy's graduation. I wish
you'd listen to me first. It's important. It's been two weeks, Flory. I haven't seen
you. I haven't called you. I suppose you thought I was trying to ditch you. Well, I'm not.
You gave me a lot to think about, Davy and all this in the theater stuff. Well, I thought
about it. I thought about every angle. It's time, Flory. I guess we've got to grow up.
A month ago we were kids. We're not kids anymore. We both know the score. Well, that's all there
is to it. I love you. I want to marry you. I want to have kids. I want to be with you.
That's all I've got to say. What do you think? Well, I'm glad we got that settled. Which
way is Davy's room? Come with me. So, fellow students, I say this is the most exciting
time to be alive. Each of us, in his own way, is prepared to face his own future. Yes, nothing
is impossible for those who have faith in the future. Fellow classmates, the world is
our oyster. At the present time, research teams at hematological centers all over the
country are at work attempting to find the cause and cure for hemophilia, the hereditary
disease which lies passive in the female genes of a family for generations and then strikes
the innocent with tragic force. Through the steps made by modern medicine to date, by
transfusion of whole fresh blood and anti-hemophilic plasma, the lifespan of a hemophiliac has been
increased from a few short years to an almost normal and useful period. There is no cure
for hemophilia yet, but someday in the near future, a hemophiliac may be able to control
his disease by injection, much like the injection of insulin for diabetes.